


Stay Alive

by chanderson



Series: Young, Scrappy, and Hungry [6]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Assassination Attempt(s), Blood and Gore, Gun Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Older Man/Younger Man, Politics, Racism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-27 01:01:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10798470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chanderson/pseuds/chanderson
Summary: “Alex, I brought you some clothes for you to change into if you want,” Adrienne says softly. “The pants may be a bit too big, but they should still work.”Alex looks down at his blood-soaked tuxedo and smiles ruefully. He feels like Jackie Kennedy.“I’m okay in these clothes,” he says firmly.All he needs is a pink pillbox hat.





	1. The Shot Heard 'Round the World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I put graphic depictions of violence just to be on the safe side. I do describe getting shot fairly graphically (I guess? Idk what constitutes as graphic), and I don't know if that counts as violence, but I put it anyway. So yeah... sorry about this in advance.

After Alex’s mother died, he thought that the next time something like this happened to him, it wouldn’t hurt as badly. He thought it might be like chicken pox—you get it once and then you’re immune. 

He was wrong.

It hurts every time.

*******

“I really don’t want to go to this stupid gala thing tonight,” George says as he bends his knees and sends a basketball sailing through the hoop. The net swishes, and George turns to grin at Lafayette. “Beat that.” 

Lafayette rolls his eyes and mirrors George’s shot. The ball makes a slow arc toward the net but bounces off the rim with a thunk.

“Fuck,” Lafayette mutters, glaring at George. “Okay so that’s H-O-R-S. I hate you.”

“Sorry I’m better than you,” George teases as he grabs the ball.

“You still have to go to the gala though.”

George takes another shot and groans. “I know. They’re just so stuffy and boring, and I’m expected to dance with all of these women—”

“Oh no,” Lafayette says dramatically. “Imagine having to dance with tons of pretty women. The _agony_.”

“You know what I mean,” George mutters. “They’re so long and my feet always hurt after. I don’t see why we have to do dumb shit like this.”

“Jesus, George, it’s for charity. I thought you were a Democrat? Where’s your sense of charitable giving?”

“Look, I’m all for raising money, but let me do it from the comfort of my own room locked away from people.”

“You are such a recluse,” Lafayette says as he shoots the ball, groaning when he misses again.

“Yeah and you suck at basketball. That’s an ‘E.’ I win. Again.”

“You’re a hateful person, you know that? Hateful.” Lafayette jokingly shoves at George’s shoulder, and George grins.

“You know you love me.”

“And now you’re putting words into my mouth!”

George laughs and takes one last shot, smirking at Lafayette when it sails through.

“Aren’t you glad I got this basketball court put in? Beating your ass at HORSE every day is really cathartic.”

George got the basketball court put in a few weeks ago, and Lafayette and he always make a point to take an hour out of their day to relax and have some fun together. It takes George’s mind off of the constant stress and provides them with some one-on-one time to just enjoy each other’s company.

“Yeah whatever. It’s only because you’re taller than me.”

“I’m not _that_ much taller than you.”

“Hey every inch counts,” Lafayette says as they walk along the running track back toward the White House.

George shakes his head and smiles at his friend. It’s a nice fall day outside, not too hot but not too cold. He wishes they could just stay out here and enjoy themselves, but he’s got a phone call with Chinese President Jinping in about an hour, which isn’t exactly something he can skip.

After Lafayette and he shower—Lafayette uses a shower in the White House gym; George goes back to the Residence—they meet back up in the Oval ahead of the phone call.

George is stretched out on the couch, his jacket off and his sleeves rolled. He yawns and rubs his eyes.

“You tired old man?” Lafayette teases from his spot across from George.

“Gil, you’re a year younger than me. If I’m an old man, so are you.”

“You’re really hating on me today,” Lafayette mutters, a smile tugging at his lips.

Just then there’s a knock on the door that leads to the private dining room, bathroom, and Lafayette and Alex’s offices.

“Come in,” George calls out. Alex sticks his head in and grins.

“Hey, you guys have fun doing your manly basketball hour?” Alex walks into the office and sits next to Lafayette, smirking at them.

“You know you’re always welcome to join us,” Lafayette says. Alex chuckles and shakes his head.

“No thanks. I don’t do… exercise.”

“Your loss,” George says.

Lafayette glances at his watch and rubs his hands together. “Okay, everyone should be getting here soon. It’s almost time for the call.”

George stands and sits behind his desk, and Alex and Lafayette pull the extra chairs in front of the desk. They both sit as Betsy notifies George his staff is here. Everyone files in and huddles around the desk. Adams sits unceremoniously, looking unnaturally large in the wooden chair.

The call doesn’t go too badly, and George thinks they have a constructive conversation about North Korea. As a Democrat, he has to strike a careful balance between diplomacy and international strength.

When he finishes the call they briefly discuss it and soon George is left with just Alex, Lafayette, and Angelica.

“That went well,” Angelica says with a smile.

“Adams is pissed we’re not doing more to put pressure on North Korea. He’s such a fucking war monger. I swear to God he should be a Republican,” George says irritatedly. “I can’t wait until the next election so I can get rid of him. Fuck Rensselaer and the establishment. I’m picking who I want.”

“You’ve only got like three years and three months left,” Alex says. “Should we get you a calendar to mark off the days?”

“How do you know I don’t already have one?”

They all laugh and George smiles, sharing a warm look with Alex. Lafayette clears his throat and gives George a withering glance.

“Permission to speak freely, Sir,” he says. George laughs and nods.

“Always.”

“Just thought I’d ask since we’re in the Oval, Mr. President. Now, I mean no disrespect, but watching you give Alex bedroom eyes is kind of freaking me out.”

George’s face heats up and he glares at Lafayette, unable to keep a small smile off of his face.

“Shut up. I wasn’t giving Alex bedroom eyes.”

“He totally wasn’t. His bedroom eyes are much sexier than that,” Alex quips, grinning wickedly. Angelica groans exasperatedly and covers her ears.

“Okay, I’m leaving. Bye.”

George and Alex both laugh as Angelica leaves, and Lafayette gives them an exasperated look.

“I hate both of you.” He goes to his office, leaving George and Alex alone. George smiles warmly.

“Hey sweetheart. Have you had a good day?”

“Yeah it’s been alright. I’m kinda tired.” Alex shrugs. George notes the dark bags under his eyes and frowns.

“Are you sleeping okay?”

“I’ve had some trouble falling asleep lately, but it’s alright. I’ve dealt with bouts of insomnia before.” Alex shrugs. George motions for Alex to come over, and he pulls Alex into his lap. They briefly adjust in the rolling chair, and George presses a kiss to Alex’s shoulder.

“You’re going to that stupid gala tonight, right?”

“You mean the stupid gala raising money for underprivileged children?” Alex asks, arching an eyebrow. “I’d shy away from calling that stupid.”

“It is stupid, though. I don’t see why we can’t all just raise money from the comfort of our own homes. And I don’t like being used as a prop. I’m just there to attract rich people to come and pay for thousand dollar plates and the chance to hear me speak and dance with me. It’s gross.”

“I think they’re kind of fun. Don’t you like getting all dressed up?”

“Not really. Black tie is so stuffy. I hate tuxes.”

“But you look so good in them, baby,” Alex says, kissing George’s forehead gently. “They really make sure your tuxes are very nicely tailored.”

“You gotta flaunt what you got,” George says with a smirk.

Alex laughs and kisses George, and his lips are warm and soft against George’s own.

“I gotta go do some actual work now, but I’ll see you later okay?.” Alex slides out of George’s lap and smiles.

“Bye sweetheart. I love you.”

“Love you too.” Alex smiles and squeezes George’s hand before leaving. George sits back in his chair and checks his schedule, counting down the hours until he has to spend an entire night socializing with people he doesn’t like.

\---

“Not too shabby, huh?” George asks as he looks at himself in the mirror and tugs on his tuxedo jacket. It hugs his figure nicely and accentuates his solid yet trim torso. The pants are a slim fit that highlights his long legs. He’s always a little surprised when he sees himself dressed up like this. “Bet you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off of me, Martha.” He straightens his bowtie and nods. “And not to be too crass, but I doubt Alex will be able to.” George grins and leaves the Residence. Harriet is walking past his room and she stops and gives him a once over.

“Looking good, Mr. President,” she says, smiling. “Is that a new tux?”

“It is,” George says, nodding. “It’s a slim fit instead of a modern fit, or that’s what my tailor told me.”

“I can tell,” she quips. George laughs and gives her a quick, one-armed hug.

“Have a nice night, Harriet.”

“You too, Mr. President. Don’t have too much champagne.”

George grins back at her as he walks down the stairs.

Everyone is already waiting for him when he gets down to the motorcade. Alex looks breathtaking in his tux, and George has to work to keep his expression neutral. Alex gives George a quick, hungry once over, and George feels his cock twitch in his pants.

Angelica is in a beautiful yellow dress decorated with black flowers, and George kisses her on the cheek.

“You look beautiful, Angelica.”

“Thank you Mr. President. You don’t look too bad yourself.”

Their cars arrive, and George and Alex climb into the first one. Alex looks over at George and smirks.

“Those pants are awfully form-fitting, baby. I’d be careful if I were you.” Alex grins mischievously, and George swallows, giving Alex a stern look.

“You cannot give me a boner at a charity gala. Do you know how fucking awful that would be?”

“That would be _hot_ ,” Alex says earnestly. “The internet would fucking explode holy shit.”

“Alex I’m serious. Don’t mess with me,” George says sternly. Alex just laughs and rolls his eyes.

“I won’t tease you, don’t worry. You do look amazing, though.”

“So do you, sweetheart.” George kisses Alex gently and laces their fingers together.

When the car pulls up, the throngs of people gathered at the rope lines start to shout and the cameras begin flashing. George groans, and Alex gives him a big smile.

“Don’t worry, I’ll find you and we can stand around and judge outfits.” Alex eyes are twinkling and he squeezes George’s hand. “Then tonight I’ll rip that nice, tight tuxedo off of you and make you scream. I wanna top tonight, baby. Is that okay?” Alex purrs, looking up at George through his lashes.

George’s mouth goes dry and his stomach clenches. “Alex, no teasing,” George practically whines. Alex grins wickedly, and George tries to think about his grandmother—wrinkly, old Mildred Washington with her dentures that George used to see her take out when he was a child—anything to keep his cock under control.

Alex is smirking at him, his eyes dark. “Go Mr. President. They’re waiting for you.”

Someone opens the door and George steps out. The crowd’s cheering immediately reaches a fever pitch, and the camera flashes come at increasing speeds. The rapid clicking, flashing, and screaming are disorienting, and George has to swallow down a wave of anxiety. But then Alex and Lafayette are at his side, and it calms him a little.

There’s a red carpet for them to walk down, which George thinks is a little ridiculous, but he starts walking, waving at people and ignoring the press’ questions. He smiles for the cameras, turning on the infamous Washington charm that he supposedly inherited from his father. His father was good at putting on a show.

They’re halfway to the door when a series of gun shots pierce the air.

First George’s body jerks, and it feels like someone slams a sledgehammer into his side. A split second later there is a high pitched ping in his head like metal hitting metal. There is an instantaneous loud ringing in George’s head, an unbearable sound that makes George’s whole body seize in panic. He numbly wonders if his brain was replaced with a bee hive.

Then there is a heavy body on top of him, throwing him to the ground. Everything is blurry and there are black lines and spots marring his vision. The side of his head is painfully tight like the skin is being stretched too far, and he can feel something warm running down his face. It drips into his eye, forcing him to close it. He tastes the tangy, metallic blood on his lips.

As the first round of adrenaline wears off, his head erupts into an agonizing pain. It’s like someone sliced him open, drilled through his skull, and started to burn his brain and skull with a branding iron. He screams as the world fades into black.

*******

Before tonight, Alex didn’t know what a gun shot actually sounded like. It’s louder than he thought—jarring and terrifying. 

There’s a flurry of activity around him: Lafayette is pacing back and forth, his dress shoes clicking loudly. Secret Service agents speak urgently and frantically into phones and radios. Occasionally, nurses and doctors will rush by. Angelica is on the phone with Timothy Pickering, George’s national security advisor, speaking in a low voice.

Alex is sitting numbly in his chair, shivering. They put a shock blanket on him when he got here, after shoving him into one of the cars in the motorcade and speeding off after the car carrying George.

Alex has never seen so much blood in his life. George was covered in it, the left side of his tuxedo was soaked and it looked like someone dumped a can of sickly, bright red paint on his face. Alex’s stomach clenches, and he swallows down a surge of bile.

He’s also covered in George’s blood. It splattered all over Alex, staining his tuxedo and dotting his face with oblong specks. Alex covers his mouth and hunches over, trying to stifle a sob.

He should be doing something, talking to someone. He’s senior advisor to the president and their country is possibly under attack, but all Alex can do is think about the blood covering George’s new tux. He was so proud of it and now it’s ruined. They’ll have to get him a new one made.

_Unless he dies tonight_ , a voice in the back of Alex’s mind taunts him. Alex’s stomach clenches again, and he gets up, letting the shock blanket slide off of his shoulders. Lafayette stops pacing and comes to a stop in front of Alex. They share a look, and Alex watches Lafayette’s eye twitch, notices the slight trembling of his lower lip. A tear slides down Lafayette’s cheek, and Alex’s stomach lurches. He turns sharply and walks down the nearest hallway, practically running to the bathroom.

Alex gets sick until there’s nothing left inside of him to bring up, and he leans against the wall, curling his knees to his chest. 

What kind of sick irony is this? Alex thinks angrily. George survives a fucking war and the death of the majority of his family only to get _shot_ by some lunatic? A hysterical laugh bubbles up in his chest, and he chokes off into a sob. 

George might die. 

He heard two nurses talking by the nurses' cart. The first bullet went into his abdomen and lodged inside. The second bullet hit him in the head, a couple centimeters to the right of his left temple.

Alex’s stomach muscles spasm and he hangs his head over the toilet, dry heaving until his throat is raw.

One of the nurses said that George probably won’t make it, made a joke about John Adams being president. Alex whimpers and another sob wracks his body.

He tries to remember the last time he told George that he loved him. Was it this afternoon? This morning? Alex doesn’t remember, and he hates himself for not saying it in the car. He hopes George knows that Alex loves him more than he can possibly describe. He sees George’s handsome, smiling face in his mind, and Alex swears he can feel his heart breaking into pieces. He finally breaks down and lets himself cry freely. He puts his head down on his knees and sobs, loud animal-like sounds that rip themselves from his throat and bounce off the walls of the bathroom.

George was finally doing better. He started taking medication and talking to his psychiatrist again, so he’s been happier lately. Their sex life is great—George is a very generous lover when he’s able to fully commit himself to the act. He’s sillier, friendlier, and more fun to be around. He’s able to open himself up to Alex and talk to him; he’s better at articulating his feelings. Lafayette says that George was like this before Martha died.

And now he might die.

Alex imagines what will happen if George dies.

If George dies, Alex will never see him smile again or smell the mixture of sweat and day-old cologne on his skin in the morning. He’ll never feel George’s warm hand wrapped around his own or the steady pulse in his neck. Alex will never hear George laugh again. He’ll never see him cry at the end of Forrest Gump or fall asleep with a book on his chest. He won’t get to watch the pure, uninhibited joy on his face when he rides Nelson at Mt. Vernon or talks about the flowers in his greenhouse. Alex won’t get to tease George for picking the onions out of his fried rice or eating boring ice cream flavors like strawberry.

Alex won’t get another chance to taste George’s lips on his own or watch the beautiful expression on his face when he comes buried deep inside of Alex, sobbing out Alex’s name like a prayer. Alex will never get to wrap his arms around George and hold him close. He won’t get to soothe George and calm him down after a nightmare, crooning sweet words into his ear.

Alex will never get to see George smile after Alex tells him ‘I love you’ again.

After an indeterminate amount of time, the sobs finally subside, and Alex gets up and tries to clean his face a little. His eyes are red and irritated and flecks of George’s dried blood are still splattered across his cheeks. He shudders when he sees the blood caked on the front of his tux.

He cleans himself up the best he can and walks back into the waiting room. Adrienne is there and it looks like she brought food, coffee, and changes of clothes. Lafayette and Angelica are both dressed down in sweats and t shirts.

“Alex, I brought you some clothes for you to change into if you want,” she says softly. “The pants may be a bit too big, but they should still work.”

Alex looks down at his blood-soaked tuxedo and smiles ruefully. He feels like Jackie Kennedy.

“I’m okay in these clothes,” he says firmly.

_Oh, no… I want them to see what they have done to George._

All he needs is a pink pillbox hat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this was so angsty. You can't have a modern president AU without an assassination attempt. Also, I'm a huge history buff so the thing Alex thinks in italics down there is what Jackie Kennedy said when they asked if she wanted to change out of the suit she was wearing after Oswald shot Jack Kennedy. Comments are always appreciated!


	2. Not Your Time

“Tell them the president is in surgery,” Lafayette snaps into his phone. “That’s all— Burr, I swear to God don’t interrupt me again! The president. Is. In. Surgery. That’s _all we fucking know_. Can you stand up there behind your podium and tell the press corps that, or do I need to come do it?”

“Lafayette,” Angelica sighs, touching his arm. “Don’t shout. He’s working his ass off.” Lafayette turns and glares at Angelica, his eyes flashing. “My best friend is going to die,” he whispers angrily, pulling the phone away from his face. “Don’t tell me how to speak to Aaron fucking Burr.” Lafayette rolls his eyes and groans. “Burr, I’m hanging up. Please do your job correctly for once.”

Lafayette stands up and starts pacing again. Adrienne gets up and puts a hand on his back, whispering into his ear. She takes his hand and they walk off down the hallway. Alex watches as Lafayette hunches over and his shoulders start to shake. 

Alex shudders and pulls the shock blanket back onto his shoulders. 

“Lafayette’s wrong,” Angelica says quickly. “The president isn’t going to die. He’s strong. One bullet—”

“Two. They shot him twice. One in the side and one in the head.”

“ _Fine_ , well, two bullets aren’t going to kill the president. He’s been shot before and he survived, right? He can survive again.”

“He was shot in the war, but that doesn’t mean anything. He just got shot in the _head_ , Angelica. Even if he doesn’t die, he could have permanent brain damage. He might not even remember who he is.”

_He might not remember me_. 

“The president is going to be okay,” Angelica repeats, her voice a little shaky. “He has to be.”

Alex just shrugs, a harsh laugh dying on his lips. “You know, he didn’t even want to go to this gala tonight. He complained about it all day. That’s fucking great isn’t it?”

“Alex, you can’t lose your shit. You and Lafayette both. I know that you both have… personal connections to the president, but you can’t freak out.”

Alex chuckles darkly and shakes his head. “Lafayette is about to lose his brother and I’m about to lose the man I love, so I suggest you don't tell us what to do with our emotions,” Alex says, his voice a low, acerbic whisper. Alex gets up and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m going outside for some air.”

“They won’t let you leave. We’re still on lockdown. Haven’t you been following the news?”

“No, Angelica I haven’t,” Alex snaps. “Sorry we can’t all compartmentalize.” 

“Alex,” Angelica pleads. “I’m sorry. Just… Sit here with me, okay? Please?”

Alex looks back at Angelica and sees the fear in her eyes, the vulnerability in the strongest woman he knows, and his shoulders sag. “Of course I’ll sit with you.” He slumps back down in his seat and takes Angelica’s hand, squeezing it gently. “We’re going to be okay,” Alex says firmly, more for himself than for Angelica. “No matter what happens, we’re going to be okay.”

\---

“We managed to repair the damage to his frontal lobe, but you have to understand that the president may not wake up. Or if he does wake up, he may have severe mental deficiencies or memory loss. You should prepare yourselves for that.”

Alex just stares at the surgeon, his mind going numb. “But he’s alive, right?” he hears himself ask. The surgeon nods and smiles grimly. 

“Yes the president is alive for now. I suggest you all go home and get some rest.”

“Can we see him?” Lafayette asks softly. 

“Yes, but not for too long.”

They file into George’s room, and Alex wants to cry when he sees him. His skin is pale and ashen, and a fleet of machines tower over him, whirring and beeping loudly in the otherwise silent room. His head is wrapped in bandages, and Alex can see where they had to shave some of his hair to operate. Alex slowly walks over and gently brushes his fingers along the back of George’s hand, careful not to disturb the IV. His hand is cold to the touch. 

Alex wants to crawl in bed with him and hold him until he wakes up, force him to wake up with a sheer force of will. George looks so small lying in the bed covered in wires and tape and bandages. 

Lafayette puts his hand on Alex’s shoulder and squeezes gently. “We should go,” he says softly. “You need to get some rest. We’re gonna have a busy day.”

Alex glances at the clock by George’s bed and sees that it’s almost five in the morning. He has to be at work in three hours. Alex looks at Lafayette’s drawn, haggard face and nods silently. 

He takes one more look at George. If he didn’t know any better, Alex would think he was already dead. His George, the man who held Alex’s heart, drained of life. Alex knows now, what George meant when he talked about losing Martha and how badly it hurt. He understands now.

As he walks through the hallway trailing after the others, he touches the dried blood caked onto the front of his tux. If George dies, it will all be over and the brightness in his life will be gone.

_Don't let it be forgotten, that once there was a spot, for one brief shining moment that was known as Camelot… There’ll never be another Camelot again._

*******

George blinks as he wakes up and his eyes adjust to the shafts of light coming in from the window. Birds are singing outside, and George frowns. There aren’t any windows in his bedroom at the White House. He sits up slowly and looks around the small apartment, his chest tightening when he realizes he’s in the first apartment he lived in with Martha after they got married. 

He gets out of bed so quickly that he almost trips and falls. The wood floor is cold against his bare feet, and he looks around for a pair of socks. 

“Your socks are under the bed, goof ball.” 

George whips his head up and stumbles backward until he hits the bedside table, the wood digging into the backs of his thighs. 

“ _Martha_?” he asks, his mouth hanging open. She smirks at him and cross her arms. She’s in one of his t-shirts and her beautiful black hair is in a messy bun.

“ _George_ ,” she echoes him, teasing. “Glad to see you’ve finally decided to join me. I didn’t think you were ever going to wake up sleepyhead.”

George just stares at her, his eyes wide. “Are you, what’s going on?” he asks, reaching up to rub his head as he feels a headache coming on. 

“Lets go to the kitchen.” Martha turns and leaves, singing softly under her breath. George is about to follow when his side cramps with a sudden, sharp pain, and the breath leaves George’s lungs with a whoosh. He doubles over and wraps his arms around his stomach, moaning in pain. His vision goes blurry as his head starts to burn with a searing pain that throbs in time with his heartbeat. George falls to his knees and tries to call out to Martha, but his throat feels tight and he can’t think through the haze of pain. 

Then there’s a soothing hand on his back and cool hand against his forehead. “You have to breathe through it, honey, Martha says softly. It’ll pass. Just breathe.”

George’s whole body is trembling, and George starts to cry. Martha shushes him and cradles him to her chest, crooning sweet words of encouragement and comfort into his ear. 

After a while the pain starts to subside and George shivers, panting. “What’s wrong with me?” he asks, his voice strangled. 

“You’re dying.” 

“What?” George asks, panic shooting through his body. “No, no. I can’t be dying.” 

“You were shot, sweet love. Don’t you remember?” 

George shakes his head, struggling to get out of Martha’s arms, but he feels weak and tired and her grip on him is tight and unbreakable. 

He closes his eyes and goes limp in her arms as images flash dizzily in his mind. A red carpet, his tux, Tallmadge on top of him, Alex beside him. 

_Alex_.

George whimpers and opens his eyes, staring up into Martha’s beautiful brown eyes. 

“I don’t understand.”

“I know honey,” Martha whispers. “Come on, let me help you up. You need to lie down.”

Martha helps him back into bed and she climbs in next to him. She runs her hand up and down his side soothingly and occasionally places sweet kisses on the tip of his nose. His eyes feel heavy, but he forces himself to keep them open. He doesn’t want to stop looking at Martha, drinking her in—her beautiful caramel skin, her soft ebony hair.

“I’ve always heard that you hallucinate before you die, but this is way better than I imagined,” George says after a while. He reaches over to tenderly cup her cheek. “I’ve missed you.”

“You aren’t hallucinating. This is the afterlife. Pretty nice, huh?”

George laughs, shaking his head. “I don’t believe in an afterlife.”

Martha shrugs. “I didn’t either.” 

George falls silent and tilts his head to press his lips against her’s. They’re as soft as he remembers, and he can’t help but smile. 

“Well,” George says amusedly. “If I die do I get to stay here with you?” George whispers, kissing her again. 

“Yes, but I can’t let that happen. It’s not your time, sweet love,” she says against his lips. George pulls away and sits up, frowning. 

“Why not? Martha… I’ve missed you so much. Why don’t you want us to be together? If dying means I get to be with you then maybe I’m ready.”

“It’s not your time,” she repeats, sitting up and facing him. “You can’t leave yet. You’ve got unfinished business. You’re president, George, and you have a boy who will miss you very much.”

“Alex,” George breathes, his stomach churning. “I—I’m so sorry. Please, you have to understand, I was so empty, and he made me feel again—”

“I’m not mad, Georgie. I’m happy for you. He’s a sweet boy who cares about you.” Martha gently taps George’s cheek, getting him to look at her. “You need to stay alive for him, George. He needs you. If you die, it will crush him. You can’t leave him just yet.”

George shakes his head, feeling that hot, burning pain from earlier creeping up from the base of his skull. His face contorts in pain, and Martha pulls him against her chest. She soothes him through the blinding pain as George screams and his body convulses.    
When the pain resides, he continues to lay in her lap, too weak to move. All he wants is to stay here and fall asleep to the feeling of Martha’s hands cool on his feverish forehead, but she prods him back into a sitting position and squeezes his face. 

“You can’t go to sleep, George. You need to get back to Alex and Lafayette. They need you; America needs you.”

“But I’m tired,” George says, his eyes drooping closed. “Just a short nap, okay?”

“It’s not your time,” Martha reminds him. “You have to stay awake.”

“Martha, I don’t understand what’s happening to me. Please let me sleep. It hurts so bad, and I’m so tired. We can sleep together. I’ll hold you like I used to, and we can stay here together.”

Martha sighs and shakes her head. “No George.”

“Georgie Porgie are you being difficult?” 

George swears his heart stops when he hears his brother’s voice. 

Then he blinks and the apartment is gone. 

He’s sitting in the orchard at Mt. Vernon, and his brother Lawrence is standing over him, his hands on his hips. He’s in his military uniform, as handsome as ever. George scrambles to his feet and throws his arms around Lawrence, hugging him as tightly as he can. 

“Lawrence,” he chokes out, his throat tight. “Oh my God.” Lawrence grins and pats George’s cheek affectionately. 

“Hello little brother. I knew you were going to be stubborn. I told Martha to send you to me first, but she was being greedy. Can’t say I blame her, though.” Lawrence grins, and George hugs him again, tears wet on his cheeks. 

“I love you so much. I didn’t get a chance to tell you that. I love you so fucking much.”

“I love you too. Now, listen up. We’ve got some talking to do.” Lawrence slings his arm over George’s shoulder and they start to walk, leaves crunching under their feet. “You’ve gotta go little brother. You can’t stay here. Too many people are depending on you. Think about that sweet boy of yours. You don’t want to hurt him, do you?”

“No but Lawrence—”

“No ‘buts’ Georgie Porgie. You’ve got a country to run. You really want to leave America in the hands of John Adams? That man’s dumber than a stick.”

George throws his head back and laughs, poking Lawrence’s side. “He really is.”

“Which is why you can’t die. And you can’t forget Laf. He’s as much your brother as I am. He needs you. You don’t want to take his brother from him, do you? Or little Geo’s uncle? You’re their family.”

“I’ve forgotten the way you stand,” George says, ignoring Lawrence’s comment. “I’ve forgotten how you stand and how you smell, the sound of your feet when you walk. I barely remember the way your voice sounded.” 

Lawrence sighs and stops walking, moving to hold George by his shoulders. “I know little brother, but it’s not your time.”

“What if it is, though?”

“It’s not,” Lawrence says firmly. “You’ve got a long time left.”

“How do you know?” 

“Sheesh, I forgot how stubborn you can be. I just know, alright.”

George glares at Lawrence, and Lawrence grins, pulling George into another hug. “It’s alright, we’re not too pressed for time, but you do have to go back, George. If you stay, you won’t get to be with Alex. Won’t you miss him?”

George sighs and swallows past a lump in his throat. “Yes. He’s the best thing to happen to me in a long, long time.”

“Right, so focus on that. You need to go back to him.”

George looks up at the apple tree above them, watching the leaves lazily swaying in the breeze. Somewhere to their right, two birds sing to each other, the wind carrying their song with it. 

When the pain hits him, he’s ready for it, and Lawrence holds him tightly, coaxing him through it. 

He stands there panting, leaning against Lawrence’s shoulder. An apple falls from the tree above them and lands near their feet, and George bends down slowly to pick it up, staring at its shiny, red surface. 

“Dying is painful,” he mutters as he tosses the apple in the air and catches it. 

“Yeah. The guy who shot you did a real number on you, that’s for sure.”

“I guess I’ll get to be a memorable president now. I’m like the black JFK.”

Lawrence snorts and shoves at George’s shoulder. “Yeah except you’re not gonna die.”

George sighs. “But I’m so tired, Lawrence.”

Lawrence narrows his eyes. “I’ve missed you little brother, but you’ve got to keep going. I know you’re tired, but you can’t tap out now. Think of how much better you’ve been doing.”

“It’s so much work, and I’m so tired right now. If I stayed here I could be with you and Martha, and it wouldn’t be hard anymore. Being happy would be easy, right?”

George reaches out to touch Lawrence’s shoulder, but it suddenly feels like his entire body is erupting into flames. His heart is hammering hard in his chest, a frantic, bruising speed, and his throat is so tight that he can’t breathe. He falls to his knees and clutches his chest as Lawrence’s face fades away. 

*******

“Angelica told me that I should stay at the White House because we have so much stuff to do—they still haven’t caught the fucker who shot you—but I didn’t want you to be here all alone,” Alex says as he uses a sponge to clean George’s face. “Also Tallmadge says hi. He’s right outside guarding you. He saved you from getting shot again, you know.” 

Alex sighs and sets the sponge aside. It’s been three days since George got shot and he hasn’t made any indications that he’ll be waking up yet. John Adams is sitting high and mighty in the Oval Office, and George’s assassin is still on the loose. 

“Oh, I almost forgot, Harriet also says hi. She gave me your pillow and blanket to bring, thought it might be more comfortable for you.” Alex picks up George’s hand and carefully raises it to his mouth so he can press a kiss to his cold knuckles. “Adams tried to move some of his shit into the Oval and Lafayette screamed at him. It was pretty awesome. You’d be proud.” 

Alex lets go of George’s hand and sighs. “I probably need to leave soon, but I’ll be back to check on you tonight on my way home. I promise.” 

Alex is gathering his things up to go when the heart machine starts to beep frantically. Alex drops his bag and spins around, staring at George as the machine continues to beep rapidly. 

Outside George’s room he hears shouting—he thinks he hears Tallmadge shout “Code Blue,” but he can’t be sure. 

Then George’s door is shoved open and doctors and nurses rush in with a crash cart. 

“He’s in v-fib,” one of them shouts frantically. 

“Sir, you’re going to need to step out of the way,” a tall man in dark blue scrubs says, pushing Alex toward the door. 

“Wait, no,” Alex says desperately, watching with wide eyes as they start hooking George up to electrodes. One of the doctors pulls out the defibrillators and squirts some gel onto the paddles.

“Sir,” the doctor says firmly. “You need to leave so we can help the president.” 

“Come on, Alex.” Tallmadge walks up to him and pulls him out of the room, letting the door swing shut behind them. Alex can still hear the frantic beeping of the machine, and he shudders. 

“He’s going to die,” Alex moans. 

“Hey, no, it’s going to be fine. It’s just ventricular fibrillation. They’ll shock him and bring his heart rhythm back to normal. It’ll be fine.” 

Alex sags against Tallmadge, and he stumbles before wrapping his arms around Alex and holding him up. “I promise it’ll be fine. I bet they’re just about finished.” 

Sure enough, a few minutes later the doctors file out of George’s room, relief clear on their faces. Alex immediately makes a move to go back inside, but one of the doctors puts a hand on his shoulder. 

“No more visitors for now. We need to monitor him and that’s easier to do when the room is empty. I’m sorry, Sir.” 

Alex sighs and nods, still feeling shaky and upset. “Okay,” he says softly. 

Tallmadge puts his hand on Alex’s shoulder and squeezes it gently. “Go on back to the White House and get some work done. Try to take your mind off things. I’ll make sure to keep the big guy safe. No way in hell he’s dying on my watch.” 

Alex sniffs and nods, discreetly reaching up to wipe a tear out of his eye. 

“Thanks Tallmadge,” Alex says gruffly. Tallmadge nods and smiles warmly. 

“Not a problem. I’d die for that man, and not just because it’s my job. He’s a good guy.”

Alex nods, too choked up to say anything. Instead he hoists his backpack higher on his shoulders and walks off, trying to get the sound of the heart monitor out of his head. 

*******

“Damn son that was a close one.” 

George blinks and looks up, squinting against the warm sun shining down on him. He reaches up to cover his eyes, but the sun is suddenly gone as someone leans over to stare down at him. His father’s face is backlit by the sun, and George’s entire body seizes up. 

“Dad?” he sputters, his heart rate picking up. 

“Hey, hey. Calm down. Your heart almost gave out on us a minute ago. You’re running out of time, George.”

George sits up and rubs his chest. “What?”

His father sighs and offers George a hand. George takes it and his father hauls him to his feet. They’re on his fishing boat, slowly rocking on the waves. George idly wonders if you can get seasick in this supposed afterlife. 

“I said that you’re running out of time,” his father says, snapping his fingers in George’s face to get his attention. 

“Well, why am I still here?” George asks irritatedly. “Everyone keeps telling me that it’s not my time, but I’m still here. I’m exhausted; all I want is to go to sleep. I’m tired of this.”

“Give me a break,” his father mutters. “You need to get your act together.”

“I don’t know how!” George shouts, throwing his hands up. “I don’t understand what I’m supposed to do.”

“You need to want it.”

“I do! I don’t want to die, but I’m so tired. I know I could close my eyes and it would all be over.”

His father slaps him so hard that his head snaps to the side and spit flies from his mouth. 

“It’s not your time,” he growls. “Now get your sorry ass together. I don’t care that you’re tired. Quit whining.”

George’s nostrils flare and he swings his fist, hitting his father square in the jaw with his right hook.

“Fuck you,” George spits. 

“Good,” his father smirks. “That was good George. You need to let go of some of these bitter feelings.” His father rubs his jaw. “You wanna hit me again?” 

George’s fist connects with his father’s nose as soon as the words are out of his mouth. 

“You ruined my childhood, you know that right?” George says angrily as he punches his father again, nailing him with a left hook to the cheek. “You _destroyed_ our family. The great Senator Augustine Washington. I’ve got some big shoes to fill, huh?” George punches his father in the side. “If only people knew the truth about you.” Another punch to the kidney. “That you banged your secretary,” George pants, “in our house when you thought no one was home.” A punch to the ear. “Or that you liked to slap me around after you had a bit too much to drink.” A punch to the stomach. 

His father’s face is covered in bright red blood and bruises are already blooming on his jaw. He just stands there, solemnly looking at George, not even flinching from the hits. 

“Are you finished?” he asks calmly. “Because, like I said, you’re running out of time.”

“I’m ten times the man you ever were; I hope you know that.” George shoves his father’s chest. “I’m a better man than you could ever hope to be,” George whispers angrily, shoving his father again. 

“I know.” 

George drops his hands and stands there panting, glaring at his father. His father just smirks and pats George’s shoulder. “Time to go, George. Good luck.”

George blinks and he is in his childhood home, sitting at the kitchen table. His mother is sitting next to him, watching him closely. 

“Hello, George.” 

George swallows and looks down at his lap. “Hi, Mom.”

He can feel the pain coming on, and he drops his head down to rest on the table. His mother rubs his back as he whimpers and moans in pain. 

“Oh my darling boy,” she says softly. “I’m so sorry.”

George blearily looks up at her after the pain passes. “Sorry for what? It’s not like you shot me,” he mutters. 

“For hurting you,” she says softly. “For resenting you. You were so young, just a teenager; you didn’t deserve that.”

The breath gets caught in George’s throat and he coughs. “It’s okay,” he mumbles.

“No it’s not. I damaged you.” She reaches over and gently cups his cheek. “You’re a good man, George, and I’m so proud of you. I promise I am.” 

George blinks back tears and clears his throat. “Thanks Mom.”

“I love you George. I need you to know that I love you.” 

“I love you too, Mom,” George says as a few tears run down his cheeks. His mother wipes them away with her thumb and smiles at him. 

“You need to go, baby. It’s not your time, okay?” 

“Okay,” George says softly. 

“I know you’re tired, but you can do it. I know you can.”

George just nods and hugs his mother, pressing his face into her shoulder. “Do you think I’m a good president?” he asks softly. 

“I think you’re a great president.”

\---

George blinks and he sees Alex next to him. 

“—Anyway, Adams was such an asshole today in the briefing. The FBI and DOJ are working hard as fuck to find this guy, and Adams has the audacity to suggest that maybe they’re not really trying. I mean, are you fucking kidding me? Sure it’s been six days, but we’ve got some leads. I know we’re gonna catch them.” 

“Alex?” George croaks, his throat raw. Alex immediately stops talking, and he makes a strangled, gasping noise.

“George, oh my fucking God,” he says loudly. Alex throws himself at George, and George grunts as Alex’s body lands on top of his. “Oh, shit, sorry. Am I hurting you?” Alex steps back and puts a cool hand against George’s cheek. “I thought I’d lost you,” he says thickly. 

George tries to reply, but his throat is so dry that he can barely speak. Alex quickly presses a straw to his lips and George takes several long sips of water. 

When he’s finished, he reaches for Alex’s hand. “I wanted to go to sleep, but everyone told me it wasn’t my time. I was so tired though. I’m sorry I almost gave up.” 

Alex gives George a strange look and strokes his cheek with the back of his hand. “That’s okay, baby.”

“I saw Martha,” George slurs tiredly, fighting to keep his eyes open.

“Shh honey. I’m gonna go get the doctor, okay?”

“Okay,” George says sleepily. “I love you, Alex.”

Alex rubs his eyes and sniffs. “I love you too, George. Please don’t ever leave me again.”

“I’ll try not to.” George closes his eyes and sighs. “My mom said she loves me.” 

Alex puts the back of his hand against George’s forehead and rubs his shoulder. “That’s good baby. You just rest. I’ll be right back; I just need to get the doctor to tell him that you’re awake.” Alex sniffs and leans over to kiss George gently. George can taste the tears on his lips. 

“Don’t cry Alex. I’m awake.”

“I know honey,” Alex says through a soft sob. “I know you are.” 

George smiles sleepily and manages to crack his eyes open. “I’m sorry I almost gave up. I wanted to, but no one would let me. They all knew you needed me.” 

Alex sobs again and grabs onto George’s hand, squeezing it tightly. 

“Shh sweetheart. Don’t try to talk too much.”

George nods and lets his eyes slide closed, and Alex presses one more kiss to his lips before leaving. He can hear him in the hall talking excitedly to someone, and George smiles. For the first time in a long while, George feels at peace. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm super not religious... but idk I've always thought that the whole 'afterlife' thing was an interesting trope in fiction, so I thought I'd include it. Honestly, idk how I feel about this chapter, but it is what it is. Expect maybe one more chapter of this? As always, comments are always appreciated! (I live for y'all's comments; they honestly motivate me to write so much so thank you to everyone who comments/leaves kudos/reads my shit in general!!)


	3. A More Congenial Spot

Alex gently dabs a cold rag against George’s face to clean the sweat off and smiles when George blinks his eyes open.

“Hey sleepyhead,” Alex teases.

George manages a weak smile and reaches for Alex’s hand. Alex immediately laces their fingers and squeezes George’s hand gently. 

“Hey,” he says softly. “Shouldn’t you be at work?” 

Alex laughs and helps George take a few sips of water. “It’s almost seven, George. You slept like all day.”

George grimaces. “I literally did sleep all day. That’s depressing.”

“Hey, you’re recovering from an _assassination_ _attempt_. I think you’re allowed to sleep all day.” George shrugs and tries to shift his weight, but his face creases with pain and he takes a sharp breath. Alex squeezes his hand. “Do you need some more medicine? I can get the doctor.”

George nods. “Yes please,” he says through gritted teeth.

Alex gets up and hurries out to the nurses’ station. One of the nurses—Meredith maybe—smiles at him. 

“Hey Alex. Everything okay?”

“The president needs some more pain medicine.” 

“He’ll have to eat something,” she says, shrugging. “I’ll get someone to get something for him.”

“Does he have to? The medicine makes him feel sick so the food just upsets his stomach.” Alex gives her his most charming smile, the smile he used to use on all the twinks at the bars in college, and flutters his eyelashes. “C’mon, can’t we break the rules just this once—” He glances at her name tag—“Meredith?” She smiles apologetically and pats his arm.

“If he doesn’t eat it’ll only make him more sick. I’ll make sure to give him the anti-nausea medicine, don’t worry.” 

Alex sighs and nods. “Alright, thanks Meredith.”

“You sure are an involved employee, huh?”

Alex tenses up and swallows. “I mean, I’m his senior advisor,” Alex stutters. “And Lafayette and Angelica have to hold down the fort so Adams doesn’t run the country into the ground, which means it’s my job to spend time with the president.” 

Meredith laughs and squeezes his arm. “I was just messing with you, Alex. I’m glad he has someone here to keep him company. No one should have to be at the hospital alone, especially not the president of the United States.”

Alex’s shoulders sag in relief and he nods. “Yeah, exactly.” 

“I’ll get someone to bring some food up. As soon as he’s finished I can give him the medicine. Remember, no food, no medicine.”

“Gotcha.” Alex gives her a mock salute and she giggles. He walks back into George’s room, steeling himself for a fight. “Hey, the nurse said that you need to eat before they give you the medicine.”

George groans and pulls a face. 

“I know, baby, but you have to eat or it’ll only make you feel worse. It’s not good to take medicine like this on an empty stomach.”

“I know,” George mutters. 

A nurse brings in what looks like a bowl of broth balanced on a tray with a little plastic spoon. “Here you go, Mr. President,” she says with a smile. George wrinkles his nose and Alex almost laughs out loud at the picture he makes. He looks very much like a petulant child being forced to eat broccoli. 

When the nurse leaves, George picks up the spoon and shudders as he takes a bite, swallowing hard. Alex shakes his head and sits back down. 

“C’mon, it can’t be that bad, George. It’s plain broth. That’s like basically nothing.” 

George gives Alex a disgruntled look and continues to eat. His hands are shaking and he keeps spilling soup, but Alex doesn’t offer to help. He knows that would only make George mad. Alex very quickly learned that George isn’t one to easily accept help with menial tasks. 

“Do I have to finish all of it?” 

Alex looks over and rolls his eyes. “A little more.” 

George grumbles something under his breath that sounds a lot like ‘fucking fascists’ and shovesa spoonful of the broth into his mouth. 

“You’re like a little child,” Alex teases. 

“I don’t appreciate the dictatorial style of governing that goes on in this hospital.” 

Alex busts out laughing, and George’s mouth quirks into a smirk. “I thought, according to Buzzfeed, that I was one of our least funny presidents?” George arches an eyebrow and Alex only laughs harder. He wipes a tear out of his eye and sucks in a deep breath, trying to control the fits of laughter. 

“I think you’re funny, baby. Buzzfeed just doesn’t understand your sense of humor.” 

George rolls his eyes and pushes the bowl away. “I don’t think I can eat any more of this. Can I have the medicine now?” 

“Yeah probably. Let me get the nurse.”

Several minutes later, George is doped up with a glazed look in his eyes. Alex squeezes his hand. “Do you feel nauseous?”

“Just a little bit,” George slurs tiredly. “I’m gonna sleep now, okay?” 

“Alright honey. I’ll see you tomorrow. Remember that we’re all coming for some stupid photo op Burr set up. It’s supposed to reassure the American people that our president is doing well.” 

George nods, his eyes slipping closed. “Okay. Love you.”

Alex presses a soft kiss to George’s forehead. “I love you too.”

On his way out, Alex says hi to Tallmadge and thanks Meredith, giving her another winning smile. It never hurts to flirt if it means you can get what you want later on down the road. 

\---

“Okay, yeah, Alex stand there next to Pickering please. And Lafayette, I need you to turn just a little bit. No, not that much! Just—yeah right there. Don’t move,” Burr says as he flits around the room, meticulously arranging everyone into a pose meant to look like they’re having a military briefing. “This looks good. Now everyone just pretend to talk or whatever.”

Alex rolls his eyes. “This is so stupid.” 

“The American people need to see that the president is still the president.” 

“Technically, John Adams is president.”

Burr glares at Alex and crosses his arms. “Well the American people don’t really care about that. People are scared, Alex.”

“The president needs to be resting,” Alex snaps. 

“I’m sitting right here,” George mutters. “And I’d really like to get this over with.” 

Alex looks down at George and sighs. They had to put makeup on him to cover up how pale he looks, and they’re angling the shot so that it’s harder to see the scar and the missing patch of his dark, curly hair. He looks exhausted and Alex can tell that he’s not feeling well. 

“Alright. Everyone just act natural,” Burr says. “Pretend to talk.” 

“Alright, who would win in a fight: James Madison or Ben Franklin,” Alex says. Lafayette snickers. 

“Definitely Madison. Franklin’s like 80 fucking years old.” 

“Madison’s always been kind of sickly, though,” Angelica points out. 

“I’d say it doesn’t matter,” George says. “Madison could definitely take Franklin down. He uses a cane to walk.”

Alex laughs, meeting George’s eyes and giving him a fond look. 

“Okay, I think I’ve got enough,” the White House photographer says. Burr nods and smiles. 

“Perfect. Thanks everyone. We can’t wait to have you back in the office, Mr. President.”

“Thank you Aaron. They said I should be discharged soon and then I’ll be able to stay in the Residence.” 

Lafayette grins, his eyes lighting up. “That’s great, Sir,” he says enthusiastically. George smiles tiredly and nods. 

“I’ll see all of you soon.”

Alex hangs back as everyone files out of the room, heading toward the motorcade waiting outside. 

“Hey, how’re you doing today?” He sits on the edge of the bed and George wraps one of his arms around Alex’s waist. 

“Alright. I went for a walk earlier, but now I’m feeling kind of sick.”

Alex frowns and leans over to press a quick kiss to George’s forehead. “I’m sorry honey.” 

George shrugs and smiles. “It’s okay. Seeing you cheered me up.” 

“You’re so gross.”

George laughs and grabs Alex’s hand. He kisses his knuckles gently. “Yeah but you like it.”

“I absolutely do.”

“Aren’t they waiting for you?” George asks, motioning to the door with his head. 

“Nah. I told them I was gonna take my lunch break and spend some time with you.” 

“Don’t you have a job?” George asks, laughing. 

“Hey, I’m not really in the business of advising just any president. I’m your senior advisor, so here I am advising you.” 

George laughs and squeezes Alex in a half hug. “Thanks sweetheart.”

Alex shrugs. “It’s no big deal. I couldn’t let you sit around in a hospital alone all day. Plus, I’m your right hand man. It’s my job.”

“No, Alex, I’m serious. You’ve been… you’ve been here. For me,” George says thickly. “I don’t know—I don’t think I could do this without you.” 

Alex clears his throat, his own eyes welling up with tears. “I’ve already told you. I’ll always be here for you,” he whispers. A few tears run down his cheeks, and he quickly brushes them away. 

They fall into a comfortable silence, and Alex manages to wedge himself onto the bed with George, curling up against his good side with his head resting under George’s chin. They idly watch the news for a little while before Alex hesitantly kisses George’s jaw. 

“Hey George,” he says softly. “Can I ask you something?” 

George blinks sleepily and nods. “Of course.”

“When you woke up, I think you were really confused or something and you mentioned Martha and your mom. You said something about everyone telling you that it wasn’t your time yet. Do you remember any of that?”

George tenses a little, and Alex rubs his stomach gently. He’s quiet for a few seconds before he kisses the top of Alex’s head. 

“I had some weird, lucid hallucination-dream thing and they were there. It was really strange actually.”

“What happened?”

“I talked to Martha and Lawrence,” George says, closing his eyes and smiling peacefully. “It was amazing. Death hallucinations are seriously great. Even though, in it, I think I actually asked Martha if it was a hallucination, and she said that it was the afterlife.” George laughs and shrugs. “It was very strange. Then I remember talking to my mother and father.”

“You said that your mother told you that she loves you.”

George’s bottom lip trembles and he nods. “Yeah, she did. I guess all that DMT helps you see what you want to see.” 

“I wonder who I would see,” Alex says softly. “Probably my mother, maybe my cousin.” 

“You might see me,” George says, squeezing Alex around the waist.

“Shut up. You’re so morbid, George. 

George grins and the heavy, emotional tension leaves the room. “I’m just saying. I’ve got 10 old ass years on you.”

“I know, old man,” Alex says, kissing George’s jaw. 

He slowly moves to kiss George’s neck, pressing an open mouth kiss to the hollow of his throat. The breath gets caught in George’s throat, and Alex smirks. “I wonder how long until you’ll be cleared to have some fun.”

“I don’t know,” George breathes as Alex starts to suck a bruise into his neck. 

“I mean, all the proper machinery is in working order, right?” 

George clears his throat, and Alex looks up in confusion. George motions with his head toward the end of the bed, and Alex grins when he sees where George’s erection is tenting the thin blankets. “Well that sure answers my question,” Alex murmurs. “I could suck you off. Then you wouldn’t have to do any work. I could just make you feel good.”

Alex bites George’s earlobe and sucks on it, eliciting a soft moan from George. 

“No, Alex,” he manages to pant out. “Not here. I’ll be home soon. Then we can.” 

Alex pouts but stops and lays his head back down on George’s shoulder. “Fine. I’m holding you to that though. Your first night back in the White House I’m staying over and sucking you off until you don’t have any little swimmers left inside of you.”

George laughs and shakes his head. “You’re so weird.”

“You know you love me.”

“Yeah maybe a little bit,” George says teasingly. 

“Oh fuck off. I’ve cleaned vomit off of your body; you owe me like ten thousand tons of love.”

“Okay, One, I’ve cleaned vomit off of you—”

“Off my mouth. That’s weak. I cleaned you up after you literally threw up all over yourself last week right here in this bed.”

“Look, I didn’t know the morphine was gonna do that to me,” George says, poking Alex’s side. “Now, _anyway_ , as I was saying, Two, I didn’t know love was measured as a weight.”

“Mine is.”

“And you have special love that can be weighed in metric tons?” George asks, quirking an eyebrow. 

“Exactly. Alexander Hamilton love is special. You should be honored.”

“I am,” George says seriously. Alex swallows, suddenly choked up again.

“Why are you so fucking sappy?” Alex manages to ask, sniffing softly. “You’re too romantic for your own good.”

George shrugs and kisses the top of Alex’s head. “I love you, Alex. Sorry you had to clean puke out of my lap.” 

Alex laughs but it comes out sounding more like a sob. “It’s okay. I’d do it again. I love you so much, George. I was so scared the whole time you were out. I thought you were going to die. It was the worst six days of my life.”

“Shh,” George says softly, reaching up to run his fingers through Alex’s hair. “I’m right here, sweetheart. I’m not going to die on you any time soon.” Alex sighs as George continues to play with his hair.

“Thank you,” he whispers. George kisses the top of Alex’s head.

“Don’t you need to get back to the White House?” he asks softly. Alex shakes his head and nuzzles George’s neck. 

“I’m staying here. There’s nothing I can do at the White House. John Adams is freezing us all out. Plus, I want to spend time with you.”

George yawns. “John Adams is a son of a bitch.”

“I thought you were above bashing Adams.”

“Life’s too short not to. I almost died without getting to call John Adams the worst person I’ve ever met in my entire god damn life.”

Alex laughs and kisses George’s jaw. “Now you’re talking.”

George hums softly, and Alex can tell he’s falling asleep. “Get some rest, baby. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

George nods and closes his eyes. Soon he’s breathing softly, his mouth falling open as his face relaxes. Alex lays there with his head on George’s chest, his heartbeat strong and even in his ear. 

Alex closes his eyes, his chest tight with emotions. George is warm and alive beneath him, and Alex grabs onto his shirt, wanting to pull George as close to him as possible. He wishes he could crawl inside of George’s chest and settle there, but even that wouldn’t be close enough. Alex never wants to lose George again—never wants to have to imagine a world without him—because now Alex knows that a world with George in it is the only world worth living in. 

_In short, there's simply not_

_a more congenial spot_

_for happily ever aftering than here in Camelot._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk how I feel about this chapter (I say that about a lot of chapters) but yeah not super pleased with this... but oh well. Also, as you can probably guess, that last quote is from Camelot (felt like I needed to keep the trend going lmao) Hope everyone enjoyed this fic :-) comments always appreciated!


	4. Keep the Hope Alive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I thought that I would end this fic after the last chapter, but I realized it needed more closure, so I wrote a 4th chapter. There's some pretty explicit racism involved in this chapter, just a warning. Anyway, I'm pretty proud of this chapter tbh, so I hope everyone enjoys!

George has to pause on his way up the stairs and if it weren’t for Alex behind him and Lafayette beside him, he’s afraid that he might fall. His legs are trembling and he feels vaguely lightheaded, but he just blinks and they continue at their snail-like pace. 

Once they finally get upstairs, Harriet is there waiting. She grins and her eyes flood with tears. 

“Oh Mr. President it’s so good to have you back. We were all so worried about you. I was downstairs polishing the china when Freddy comes running in shouting and going on about you getting shot. It’s been the scariest couple of weeks of my life.”

Despite how his side is aching, George pulls Harriet into a hug. “Thank you Harriet. I’ve missed you.” George pulls out of the hug and smiles. Most presidents end up ignoring and disregarding the White House staff, but George absolutely loves them and makes sure they know it.

George eagerly goes into his bedroom, thankful to be able to sleep in his own bed rather than the uncomfortable hospital bed. He sits down on the edge, careful not to hunch over and hurt his side.

Alex is talking to Harriet in the hallway, but Lafayette walks over and sits next to him. They haven’t had much of a chance to talk—Lafayette has been busy trying to keep everything in working order and has been involved in the hunt for his shooter—and George is suddenly hit with how much he’s missed him. 

“I always thought that I handled grief well,” Lafayette says softly. “But the thought of losing you…” Lafayette clears his throat and sniffs. “It was devastating. You are my best friend, my brother. I don’t know what I would do without you in my life.” 

George puts his hand on top of Lafayette’s and takes a deep breath. “I love you Gilbert.” 

“I love you too, George.” Lafayette gives George a watery smile. “I should probably get back to work. The FBI thinks they have a location on the guy who shot you. The gun was found in the window of an office building across the street, and some video footage in the lobby shows a man in a blue hoodie carrying the gun case. He briefly shows his face. He’s obviously not a professional, though he used a professional grade weapon.” 

George doesn’t tell Lafayette that he’s already been briefed; he just lets his friend talk, sensing that he needs to talk it out with George.

“So we’re most likely looking at some type of Reagan situation—mentally ill guy goes off the deep end and decides to kill the president?”

“Most likely.” Lafayette shrugs and stands up, brushing his suit down. “I’ll see you later, alright? I’ll join you for dinner if you feel up to eating in the dining room.”

“Sure that sounds good. Hopefully I’ll be able to start getting some work done. I’m gonna try to convince Dr. Rush to let me work in my office here in the Residence.”

Lafayette nods and pats his shoulder. “If you’re feeling up to it, I think we’re going to have a short briefing later today. We can do it up here so you can sit in on it.”

George inwardly cringes at the idea of having his advisors and national security council in his bedroom while he sits in bed, so he just settles on shrugging. 

“Yeah I’ll see how I feel.”

Lafayette nods and pats Alex on the shoulder on his way out. Alex murmurs something to Harriet and closes the door behind him as he walks into the bedroom. 

“Hey, I’m gonna unpack your stuff.”

“Thanks,” George says softly. He gingerly swings his legs up and manages to ease himself under his blankets in a comfortable sitting position. He’s so tired of feeling like an invalid, needing Alex around to do all of these simple tasks for him. The first few days after he woke up, Alex had to help him hobble over to the bathroom just so he could take a piss. It was humiliating, but Alex seemed unfazed by it. George was used to being the caretaker, and he really didn’t enjoy being the patient. The sudden lack of control made him anxious. 

“Hey, what’re you thinking about?” 

George blinks when Alex climbs onto the bed and lays perpendicular to George, his feet hanging off of the bed and his upper body propped up by his elbows. 

“Just stuff.”

Alex rolls his eyes and gently runs his fingers up and down George’s forearm, making George shiver. 

“What kind of stuff? You seem down.”

“I’m just tired of this,” George says, motioning at himself. Alex nods solemnly and shifts so he’s sitting up next to George. He laces their fingers together. 

“I know you are honey. I know it’s hard to lose the ability to take care of yourself.”

George makes a frustrated growling noise and nods. “I mean, I’m so fucking tired of needing you to help me walk around and complete simple tasks.”

“Just remember, you’re getting better. You got to leave the hospital, which I know you’re so sad about.” 

George snorts and squeezes Alex’s hand. “If anyone’s sad to leave the hospital it’s you.” 

“What do you mean?” Alex asks amusedly, raising his eyebrows. 

“You and Meredith were awfully close. I saw the kiss on the cheek and the little hand squeeze you got when we were leaving.” George smiles to let Alex know that he’s only teasing him. Alex smirks and puffs his chest out.

“Sometimes you gotta flirt to get what you want, baby. I can turn on that Hamilton charm when I need to.”

George laughs and shakes his head. “I know; you used it on me.”

“Damn right I did. The first time I came to your office to work on your announcement speech I laid it on thick. I wish you could’ve seen your face. You looked so cute and confused.”

“I hadn’t been picked up in a while,” George says, chuckling softly. There’s a twinge in his chest as he thinks about Martha. She was the last one to pick him up before Alex. Alex must sense it, because he leans over to kiss George and changes the topic. 

“The FBI director said they’re close to getting the guy who shot you. They think they’ve got a location.”

“Yeah Lafayette told me. Daniel Morgan is a damn good FBI director.”

“I like him a lot. He could be your veep,” Alex muses, shrugging. 

“I’m thinking I might want to get a woman. Of course, I’ve still got basically three years left, so I’ve got time to think about it.”

“If you chose a woman, who would you choose?”

“Catharine Schuyler.”

“Angelica’s mom? Your UN ambassador?”

“I’m pretty sure she’s the only Catharine Schuyler, yeah,” George quips, smiling. Alex sticks his tongue out and kisses George’s cheek. 

“Oh shut up. She would be a great choice, though you might be accused of bias because of Angelica and your close relationship with Senator Schuyler. Republicans already had a little bitch fit over you hiring Angelica, which is so annoying.”

“I would’ve hired her sister Eliza too if she wasn’t so involved with her work at the ACLU.”

“Eliza’s great. She’d make a great senior advisor.”

“I know. I really should have two, you know. That’s what that other office next to yours is for, but I don’t know anyone else I’d want to hire. David Humphreys might not be a bad choice. I’ve met him several times. He worked for President Hanson and I got a chance to talk to him when I came here as governor and during the campaign.”

“I bet he’d like working for you a hell of a lot more than for John Hanson. That guy’s boring as fucking hell and distressingly disorganized. How did he ever get elected?”

“Because he had men like David Humphreys working for him,” George chuckles. “Angelica’s been pushing me to get another advisor, said it would lessen some of the work load and give you someone to talk to other than her. I might give Humphreys a call.”

“What if I don’t like him? I don’t like most people.” 

“He’s nice and relatively funny. I think you’d like him.” 

“Yeah but then I’d have to share you with another advisor,” Alex says, pouting. 

“I thought you’ve always wanted a threesome?” George asks, barely suppressing a smile. Alex’s eyes widen and he perks up. 

“Um, I totally fucking have. Is this Humphreys guy good looking? I’m about to look him up.”

George laughs and pokes Alex’s side. “I was joking, but he’s not horrible looking. He’s got nice curly hair, kind of sad looking hooded eyes. It’s not a bad look.”

Alex ignores him, his head hunched over his phone as he types quickly. He grins and nods. “Yeah he’s not too bad looking, especially for a white guy. I could work with that. We could be kind of like neapolitan ice cream, except instead of pink we’d have some like coffee ice cream.” Alex holds his arm out and nods. “Definitely coffee ice cream.”

George throws his head back and laughs, equal parts amused and mortified. His stomach clenches as he keeps laughing, causing a painful twinge in his side. He groans and grabs his side, taking a deep breath. 

“Shit, are you okay?” Alex asks, gently squeezing George’s arm. “You should be resting, and it’s almost time for you to take more medicine.”

George grimaces and shakes his head. “Do I have to?” 

“I mean no I guess you don’t, but then you’ll just be in pain.”

George sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose as if he can stave off the pain that’s already steadily building. “I’m just tired of feeling nauseous.” 

“I know baby,” Alex murmurs, squeezing the back of George’s neck soothingly. “But the doctor doubled the dosage of the nausea medicine. It shouldn’t be too bad. And it won’t be nearly as bad as it was those first couple of days.”

“You mean when I literally vomited all over myself?” George asks bitterly. 

“You’ve gotta let that go, George. I swear it grossed you out more than it did me. I’ve cleaned vomit off of people before. I did a lot drinking in college.” Alex smirks and kisses George’s temple. 

“It wasn’t gross—I mean it _was_ , but it’s more embarrassing than anything else,” George mutters. 

Alex sighs and gently turns George’s head to look at him. “George Washington, I don’t give a shit about the fact that I had to clean vomit off of your like entire body. I literally don’t give one single shit. I’d do it again in a heartbeat. You wanna know why?”

George knows he’s blushing, and he kind of wants a giant hole to open up and swallow him whole, but he just nods. Alex sighs and presses a chaste kiss to his lips. “I’d do it because I know you’d do the same thing for me.”

George carefully turns and cups Alex’s face, ignoring the burning pain in his side the twisting is causing. 

“I absolutely would,” he whispers before kissing Alex gently. 

“Exactly. I love you George. Surely you realize by now that I’d do anything for you.” 

George smiles and chuckles softly. “We’re disgusting. How the fuck did we become this weird, sappy couple?”

“You almost died,” Alex says seriously. 

“Assassination makes the heart grow fonder,” George quips. 

Alex immediately bursts into laughter, and George revels in the sweet, boisterous sound. Like everything he does, Alexander Hamilton’s laugh is a force of nature. He tries to hide his grimace when a wave of pain reverberates in his head, but Alex immediately sobers up and puts a cool hand on George’s cheek. 

“I’m getting you something to eat and giving you your medicine. Don’t try to tell me it doesn’t hurt.”

George sighs. “It hurts pretty badly.” The pain in his head is starting to pulse in time with his heartbeat, an unsettling feeling that makes George want to clutch his chest to get his heart to stop beating so his head won’t hurt. 

“How bad?” Alex asks as gets out of bed and picks up the official White House phone on George’s bedside table. He leans against the table and fondly scratches George’s head, playing with some of his curls.

“Uh, like an 8 I think.” 

Alex nods grimly before cradling the phone in between his shoulder and cheek and punching a few buttons on the phone. George can hear it ringing faintly through the speaker. Alex keeps one hand on the top of George’s head, careful to avoid the scar now marring his skin.

“Hey Julio, can the president get some soup? Something light and easy. Chicken noodle is fine, but leave out the actual chicken and remember, he doesn’t like green peas.” Alex nods and smiles. “Thanks Julio. If we could get that ASAP, I’d really appreciate it.” Alex nods again and absently twists the cord around his finger. “You’re the man Julio. Thanks again.” 

“Do you have all of my food preferences memorized?”

“You’re very predictable and consistent, so yes. Plus, your taste in food is boring as fuck and you eat the same stuff all the time.” Alex smiles teasingly and leans over to kiss the top of George’s head. “But that’s enough talking, how about you lay down until the soup gets here. I’ll get you a cold washcloth for your head.”

George carefully slides down until he’s lying on his back; it still hurts to try to lie on his side. He closes his eyes and tries not to think about the sharp, pulsing pain in his head. It feels like someone is hammering a nail into his head, pounding the nail in time with his heart. It’s nauseating and disorienting. 

Alex comes back, and George can tell he’s being careful not to make too much noise. He gently drapes the washcloth over George’s forehead. A few seconds later the lights are off, the faint light filtering through his eyelids replaced with a deep black. 

George wraps one of his arms around his abdomen and holds the wound in his side. It hurts like a horrible cramp.

He hates how suddenly he can go from feeling well to feeling absolutely awful, and he hates needing the pain medicine. It makes everything fuzzy and even with the anti-nausea medicine, his stomach is always unsettled and he feels like he’s about two seconds from throwing up. 

The doctor said that the pain would start to get better soon and that George just had to fight through it. It’s a little better from how it was in the hospital; the first few days the pain literally took his breath away and they had to dope him up on morphine. Now he’s on Vicodin and the pain is a little bit more bearable. 

“Hey honey, soup’s here.” 

George’s stomach roils. He hates the constant conundrum of feeling sick and not wanting to eat because of how bad the pain is but needing the medicine that he can’t take unless he eats to stop the pain. 

Alex flips on the lamp on the bedside table and carefully helps George sit up. He sets the tray across his lap and hesitates, standing next to George. George sighs and picks up the spoon, but his hand is shaking so badly that he can’t even bring the soup to his mouth without most of it spilling out. He growls in frustration and sets the spoon onto the tray with a loud clatter that sounds like a cymbal crash inside his head.

Alex wordlessly goes around and climbs back into the bed. He picks up the spoon and begins to slowly feed George spoonfuls of the soup, careful not to go too fast. 

He finishes half the bowl of soup in a hazy daze, everything cloudy with pain. Thankfully Alex finally lifts the tray off of George’s lap and presses a glass of water to his lips. He puts the pill into George’s mouth and tips the glass up so George can take several long sips. 

“There you go honey. Just get some sleep. I’ve gotta go down for a briefing. I already told Lafayette that you’re not feeling well so we can’t do it up here. I’ll make sure you get all the information you need when you wake up.”

George nods, barely registering what Alex is saying. He’s already drowsy as the medicine starts to dull the sharp, painful aches in his head and side. 

Alex says a few other things that don’t even sound like real words to George and brushes his lips against George’s forehead. Then he’s gone and George falls asleep, fading into the deep, black nothingness of a drugged sleep. 

\---

“I think the Republicans are going to flip a Democratic vote to block the bill,” Alex says angrily as he paces back and forth in front of George’s desk in the Residence. “That Benedict Arnold is a traitorous son of a fucking bitch!” Alex shouts, throwing his hands up.

George sighs and sets aside the report he was reading. “Sweetheart, take a breath. It’s okay. Maybe we can flip Nathan Hale. You know he’s a bit of a maverick. He’s voted with us before.”

“Then we’ll have a tie,” Alex snaps. 

“And Adams gets to vote to break it. And he may be a terrible person, but he’ll obviously vote for his own administration’s legislation.” 

Alex’s shoulders sag and he drops down into the chair George moved in front of his desk when Rush finally let him get back to work last week. “Well, we better start whipping some fucking votes then.”

“Schuyler is damn good at whipping votes. He’ll court Hale easily. They’re golfing buddies.”

“I’m gonna get Lafayette on the phone with him anyway, see if we can offer him something Schuyler can’t.”

“Don’t offer him anything we can’t really follow through on,” George warns, fixing Alex with a stern look. “I don’t want to get into the business of racking up a bunch of IOUs that we can’t actually repay.” 

“I know, I know,” Alex grumbles, crossing his arms. “Why can’t people just fucking vote with the party when we need them to?”

“Arnold’s just looking out for his constituents.”

“No,” Alex snaps. “Arnold is just being a pain in the ass. He doesn’t give a shit about the people of Connecticut. He’s always had it out for you and you know it. You think he’d show a little support for you considering your approval ratings are through the god damn roof and you almost _died_. He’s gonna lose his seat over this.” 

George smiles amusedly and turns his attention back to the thick report in front of him, uncapping his highlighter. 

“Are you purposefully ignoring me?” Alex whines. George looks up and smiles fondly. 

“I’m working. Just because I’m not in the Oval doesn’t mean that I’m not working. I’m president again, remember?” 

“I know,” Alex mutters. “When’s Dr. Rush going to let you start working in the Oval again? I don’t really see what the difference is if you work up here or down there.”

George shrugs and recaps his highlighter, realizing he won’t be getting any work done for a while. “I think it’s so I can easily go and rest if I need to, and I won’t have to go up and down the stairs too much.” 

“I think it’s a plot to get the rest of us in shape. I’m so tired of having to walk all the way over here up and down those damn stairs a million times a day.”

“I swear, once I’m better, I’m forcing you to play basketball with Gilbert and me. You’re going to die at 40 if you don’t start getting some exercise.” 

“You’re insufferable.” 

“You’re stubborn.”

Alex sticks his tongue out at George. “You’re such a tight ass. I never thought I’d be dating a tight ass.”

“I am not a tight ass,” George mutters, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

Just then, there’s a frantic, pounding knock on the door, startling both of them. “Yes?” George asks hesitantly, his spine tingling. 

Lafayette bursts into the door, panting with a wild look in his eye. “They finally found the guy who shot you. He’s in a gas station right outside Richmond holding four people hostage. He’s armed with an AR-15 and a knife. You need to come to the Sit Room right now.” 

George is already out of his seat, and all three of them rush out of the room. The adrenaline helps with any pain George might otherwise be feeling as they hurry down the stairs, practically jogging to the West Wing. 

He can feel the sheen of sweat on his forehead, and he absently wipes it off with the back of his hand. His heart is hammering hard in his chest and he collapses down into his chair after the burst into the room. Everyone politely ignores him as he gulps in deep breaths, trying to catch his breath. 

“Okay, what’s going on? Lafayette already briefed me, but are there any developments? Are the hostages okay?” George finally says once he catches his breath. 

“So far he hasn’t shot any hostages,” Director Morgan tells him. “But he’s made it very clear that he’s not afraid to.”

“Do we have someone on the scene who can handle an active hostage situation?”

“I’ve got some of my best agents on the scene.” 

George nods and takes a deep breath. “What do we know about this guy? Do we know why he tried to kill me?”

Pickering laughs nervously and shifts in his seat. “Well, for one, he’s a big fan of Hitler.”

George frowns. “He’s a Neo-Nazi?”

“Thomas Hickey, proud Neo-Nazi, white nationalist, and KKK Grand Wizard.”

“Jesus Christ,” Alex says, taking the words right out of George’s mouth. 

George feels anger burning low in his stomach and he clenches his fists, taking a sharp breath. “So basically he tried to kill me because I’m black?”

Everyone in the room shifts uncomfortably and nods. 

George takes a calming breath. “Alright, we need to get these hostages out. I don’t care if we take this guy dead or alive, but we can’t let him kill any of these hostages. I’d say he’s caused enough damage,” George says through gritted teeth. 

Angelica puts a comforting hand on his arm and stares into his eyes. She nods her head, telling George that he can do this without saying the words. They’ve established a silent form of communication, and some of the tension leaves George’s body at Angelica’s reassurance. 

They’re on a conference call with some of the agents on the scene as they work to get a way to listen in on what’s going on in the gas station. George tunes out most of the technical jargon, letting Morgan work. He bounces his leg nervously. 

Once the agents establish communication, everyone in the room perks up. They listen in tense silence as the agent trained in hostage management talks to Hickey. The moment George hears his voice, he shudders and has to swallow down a surge of bile. Alex is seated behind him, and he leans forward to squeeze George’s shoulder. It grounds him and he takes another deep breath. 

The tension in the room is thick as Hickey sputters and rants on about killing the hostages. 

“—And I almost killed that dumb ape George Washington. He thinks he can run this country? America is a _white_ nation.”

It feels like the air gets sucked out of the room. George’s body tenses with a surge of anger.

“Why the fuck haven’t we gotten this guy yet?” George snaps, his whole body buzzing with barely contained rage. He knew, on one level, that there were racists out there. He wasn’t immune to racism; he’s experienced it a disgusting amount of times, but the thought that someone hates him because of the color of his skin so much that they would try to _kill_ him makes him feel sick. 

“We’ve almost got a sniper locked in on him. We need him to move about an inch to the left.”

George sucks in a deep breath, trying to calm the livid anger that’s making his hands shake. He wants to punch something or scream, possibly both, but he forces himself to stay seated. He clenches his hands in his lap and bounces his leg to try to expel some of the excess energy. 

Alex’s hand is back on his shoulder, and George focuses on his warm touch. 

“We’ve got him locked in,” the agent says, and everyone in the room seems to move to the edge of their seats. There’s the sound of shattering glass and everyone holds their breath. 

“We got him,” another agent says excitedly. “Moving in to evacuate the hostages.”

Everyone seems to let out a collected sigh of relief. George’s whole body is still thrumming with anger.

“Mr. President,” Morgan says, pity clear in his voice. George shakes his head tersely. 

“Good work Morgan.” Morgan looks down and nods. 

George pushes his chair back and stands. “I’m going to give a press briefing and answer questions.”

“Mr. President,” Burr protests. “Is that the best idea?”

George clenches his jaw and takes a deep breath. “Yes, it’s the best idea. I’m going to change into a suit. Get the press corps assembled,” George snaps. He leaves abruptly, stalking off back to the Residence, ignoring the slight pain in his side and head. The doctor was right, the pain was starting to subside and George was able to ignore it when it flared up. 

He can hear footsteps running after him, and he senses Alex’s presence before he reaches out and grabs onto George’s arm, pulling him to a sudden stop. George stumbles and glares at Alex, his nostrils flaring. 

“What?” he snaps. “I need to get a suit on.” 

Alex narrows his eyes and squeezes George’s arm hard, digging his nails in. 

“Slow down before you hurt yourself. You’re upset. Please just take a breath.”

“I don’t want to,” George wrenches his arm out of Alex’s grasp and continues walking to the Residence. Alex huffs behind him and hurries to catch up with him again. 

“I know you’re angry, but can you slow down a little? You’re going to tire yourself out and then you won’t be able to give a press conference without falling over.” 

George clenches his fists but slows down slightly. Alex falls into step beside him and they walk in tense silence. 

When they get to the Residence, George gets a suit out and starts to quickly get dressed. He grabs a random blue tie and starts trying to tie it, but his hands are shaking too badly and he keeps fucking it up. He growls in frustration and rips the tie from around his neck, throwing it at the ground. 

“ _George_ ,” Alex says sternly. “Calm the fuck down.” 

“Don’t tell me what to do,” George shouts. He’s taking his anger out on Alex, which he knows on one level is awful, but he can’t control it. He’s always had a nasty temper. 

Alex just tightens his jaw and fixes George with a sharp, piercing stare. 

“Fine. You wanna shout, George?” Alex says, his voice on the edge of taunting. “Go on and shout. Hit me with your best shot.” 

“Don’t fucking patronize me,” George says angrily. 

“What?” Alex says, the taunting his voice loud and clear now. “I couldn’t hear you?”

“I said don’t fucking patronize me,” George shouts, wincing at the pain that flashes through his head. He sees concern flicker in Alex’s eyes before his stare hardens again. 

“Maybe if you weren’t acting like a child I wouldn’t have to.”

“Alex, I swear to God!” George clenches his fists again and turns around, pacing. “I know what you’re trying to do. Can you just help me tie this fucking tie?” 

Alex bends down and wordlessly picks up the tie. He makes quick work of tying it, his movements quick and efficient. He smooths it down and steps back, looking up to meet George’s eyes. The hard, steely look is replaced with something softer. 

“The best way to get you to calm down is to pick a fight,” Alex says calmly. “Do you feel any better?”

George sits down on the edge of the bed and holds his head in his hands, taking several deep breaths as the adrenaline starts to ween and the anger subsides. Alex sits next to him and rubs his back. 

“I do feel a little better,” George finally says. 

“Good. Now, you need to give this press conference. Hopefully Burr or Herc have a statement written up for you.

George nods. He sits up and turns to look at Alex, and Alex reaches up to cup George’s cheek. “I’m sorry that fucker said that stuff about you, George,” Alex says softly. George swallows hard and nods. 

“I forget there are people like that out there. It makes me lose a little faith in our country.”

“Hey, no. You can’t lose faith,” Alex says firmly. “If you lose faith then what’s the fucking point? George, a young black man is president. His staff is mostly made up of minorities. His cabinet is incredibly diverse. You represent the new generation of Americans. I mean, honestly, you really are the black JFK. He represented the new, youthful generation in America who were stepping up to serve their country so they could make a difference. You signify a shift in America, George. You’re living, breathing proof of everything good in America. Our diversity, our tenacity, our compassion. You can’t let what one racist fuck says bring you down. You have to set an example. Rise above it. Show all the little kids who look like you and me that they matter regardless of what people say or do to them. You have to keep the hope alive.”

George leans his forehead against Alex’s and breathes deeply. “ _We’re_ proof of everything good in America,” he says softly. 

“What?” Alex asks, reaches up to squeeze the back of George’s neck.

“You said that I’m proof of everything good, but I wouldn’t be here without you. You deserve as much credit as I do.” George lifts his head and looks at Alex, staring into his eyes. “I love you. Thank you.”

“I love you too, baby. Now, lets go give that press conference. Show the American people that you’re not going down without a fight.” Alex grins and George can’t help but grin too. 

“Lets go keep the hope alive.”

_We have come too far, we have sacrificed too much, to disdain the future now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the official end to the fic lmao. I just didn't feel great about ending it after last chapter. That quote at the end is a quote from JFK! Hope everyone liked it. Comments always appreciated!


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